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<title>On Running by Crimes Trawczynski (Digi_Wears_Goggles)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27623720">On Running</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Digi_Wears_Goggles/pseuds/Crimes%20Trawczynski'>Crimes Trawczynski (Digi_Wears_Goggles)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Call of Cthulhu: Path of Perdition (Web Series), Internet Remix, Rolling with Remix: Masks of Nyarlathotep (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, surprise it's canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:40:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27623720</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Digi_Wears_Goggles/pseuds/Crimes%20Trawczynski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“...Are you mad?” She asked, daring to look over to him when they paused at a stop sign.</p><p>The words hung in the air with the growl of the engine.</p><p>“...Why would I be mad, Sybil?” James asked as he glanced at her, the streetlights catching the tight smile that was decidedly not a smile. “Do I have a reason to be?”</p><p>---</p><p>In which Sybil and James have a discussion regarding impromptu train trips.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sybil Cordova/James O'Connel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>On Running</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The bite of January’s cold was particularly harsh at 1:45 in the morning, but Sybil Cordova hardly noticed as she stepped onto the platform of Grand Central Station. Her focus was reserved for the reams of notes in her arms, though there was no point in sifting through them any longer. She’d poured over them for seven hours on the train, after all, so she was best off saving them for a fresh pair of eyes, like Sunil or Kit or-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or her husband, who was patiently waiting for her at the station.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sybil’s face lit up and she gave an excited wave as she hopped off the train. She sped to James in a burst of warm breath and excited speech, gushing a mile a minute about death cults and execution by bat teeth club. She embraced him, not once stopping in her enthusiasm even as her husband flashed a tired, somewhat strained smile. He kissed her on the forehead, then wordlessly escorted her to their waiting rental car.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The chill was just starting to get to her when they arrived- even with the numerous furs she’d never fared particularly well in winter. Blame it on her small stature or the fact that she was a summer child. Fortunately, there was already a blanket waiting for her in the car. She gave a chirp of thanks as she wrapped herself up in it before plopping into the passenger seat, still gushing excitedly of giant bats and forgotten gods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> noticed that James wasn’t saying anything. Her primary skills were people ones, after all, to say nothing of her ability to read her husband. Tension coiled in the fingers clutched around the wheel, settled into the hard lines of his shoulders and jaw, simmered with the growl of the engine. It joined the weight in her chest, the tightness at the edges of her smile, the memory of a similar drive from the night before- but no, she wasn’t ready to come down yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she went on for a while longer, detailing dinner at Professor Cowles house and his lovely daughter (“God James, she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>cute, you wouldn’t believe-”) and the potential expedition to Australia and the longer she kept going to closer she got to believing this was just like any of her other outings taken on a whim, this was normal,</span>
  <em>
    <span> perfectly</span>
  </em>
  <span> normal-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James’ fingers tapped against the wheel now. It was time to come back to Earth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Are you mad?” She asked, daring to look over to him when they paused at a stop sign.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The words hung in the air with the growl of the engine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Why would I be mad, Sybil?” James asked as he glanced at her, the streetlights catching the tight smile that was decidedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a smile. “Do I have a reason to be?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She absently reached up to twirl a lock of hair around her finger. “N-no, why would you? It was just a quick trip upstate, no big deal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Just a quick 14-hour train ride, no big deal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Exactly!” She spoke quickly, as if this would somehow stop him from taking the statement back. “Nothing I haven’t done before!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yep, that’s right, nothing you haven’t done before. I mean, granted, at breakfast, you did </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell </span>
  </em>
  <span>everyone you were going to NYU. Which is just </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly</span>
  </em>
  <span> not in Arkham, what with New York being in the name of the school and all, but you know, I guess I can see how you somehow mixed the two up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mix the two up, I</span>
  <em>
    <span> did</span>
  </em>
  <span> go to NYU and they told me I should talk to Professor Cowles, so I went and found him! ” Sybil huffed as she held up the pile of notes and waved it. “And it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>worth it </span>
  </em>
  <span>because Professor Cowles is very nice and told me a lot and he even gave me a recording of the lecture Jackson went to before he-” The rest of the words caught in her throat, smothering her stifled protests into cold, hard reality.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...You wanna finish that sentence?” James asked softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sybil shook her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How about I tell you about my day now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sybil bit her lip, pulled the notes close to her chest and nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right. So </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>spent my whole day running around Chinatown with a matchbox, trying to see if anyone had ever heard of Stumbling Tiger Bar. Go figure that got me nowhere, so after a while I start shaking trees to see if there’s any underground news about Chelsea. I got a knife pulled on me but y’know, that’s just a regular Friday, what are you gonna do? Finally I call it a day and I head to the hotel because well </span>
  <em>
    <span>hey</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m sure everybody else found something and we’ll talk it out over dinner. And they did, Mason and Sunil looked into the Harlem murders Detective Poole mentioned and Kit’s dad’s gonna run the plates for the car we saw.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“O-oh, well um, that’s good news!” Sybil piped up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess. I was kinda distracted by this note my wife left with the goddamn cocierge saying she </span>
  <em>
    <span>hightailed it up to Arkham on a fucking whim</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She felt herself puffing up again, “W-well yes, I left a note like you asked, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> as long as I let you know where I’m going it’s okay, so you can’t be mad!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I can’t be mad?” James gave a humorless laugh. “Is that so?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you can’t be mad!” Sybil gave a firm nod as she tapped her booted foot against the car floor. “I left a note and I’ve taken that train plenty of times and I’ve been to Miskatonic University </span>
  <em>
    <span>plenty of times</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So why did you have to go </span>
  <em>
    <span>today</span>
  </em>
  <span>!?” James snapped. “Why not just call the guy up and schedule a meeting for next week?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Because I can’t wait for things anymore!” Sybil shouted. “I waited yesterday and now Jackson’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> and all we have is a matchbox and a stupid handout for a lecture he went to! So I had to go to the lecture but the lecture’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>over</span>
  </em>
  <span> and all that’s left of it was in Arkham so I had to…” Her shouts tapered off, growing quieter and quieter as her fists tightened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Jackson was there,” She mumbled, fingers tracing the recording in her lap. “The words on this… he was listening to them just a few days ago… I knew he wasn’t going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span> this but- but he heard it, so…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The remaining sentences trailed off, an unspoken, jumbled mess she couldn’t seem to force past the lump in her throat. How she couldn’t stop imagining Jackson Elias in that lecture hall, his eyes bright and smile widening as each morbid piece of the puzzle paraded before him. How he’d have questions, so many questions, and how in a few days he’d meet his friends in New York and they’d all pour over this new mystery and she’d get to share in that excitement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that wasn’t right, because Jackson had been scared on the phone, and Jackson was never scared, and if Jackson was scared on the phone then maybe he’d also been scared at the lecture like he’d been scared on the phone and if he was scared on the phone he was probably scared in that hotel room and of course he was scared because who </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> be scared dying like that and it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair</span>
  </em>
  <span> because Jackson wasn’t supposed to be scared and if she’d just let James and Kit break down the door then maybe he wouldn’t be scared anymore but he wouldn’t be scared anymore anyway because Jackson was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it was all her-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James’ calloused fingers wrapped around her small ones, the speed bump guiding her thoughts to slow and stop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...It’s supposed to be okay if I go away as long as I leave a note,” Sybil finally spoke up again. “It’s normal if I go somewhere and leave a note.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But this ain’t normal,” James squeezed her hand. “You can’t go acting like it’s normal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shook her head defiantly but didn’t say anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A long sigh from beside her. “Jackson’s dead, Sybil.” She flinched at the words but he continued. “He’s dead and the last damn thing I said to him is I’d make sure we weren’t followed when we went to see him. I told him we’d be careful and now his </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> friend- my wife, who I love, who is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddamn world</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me- spent the day about as far away from me as she could get-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was safe,” She tried to interject weakly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t fuckin know that!” Her husband’s tone sharpened. “Who knows who got on that train between here and there? To say nothing for going into a stranger’s house completely unannounced- yeah, Jackson went to the guy’s lecture, but for all </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> know he’s one of the guys who clocked Jackson to get fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>axed</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He was nice, I’m sure he-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James’ grip tightened on her hand as the car came to a stop. “Yeah, well, maybe Jackson thought that too, we’ll never know, will we!?” He took the opportunity to fix her with a glare, anger glittering in the low light of New York street lamps.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anger, pain, and fear, the latter of which was reserved almost entirely for her well-being. Well, her and a few others, but most of the others weren’t quite as prone to throwing themselves into danger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except for Jackson, who was dead, and she’d provided an opportunity to make that a pattern.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her stomach dropped as she turned away, fixing her gaze outside. She said nothing as the car picked up speed again, continuing its ambling drive toward the Plaza.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...I thought he’d always be there, you know?” James finally broke the silence. “Back then we wanted to save him and he ended up saving </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was always out there somewhere, sending postcards and letters, so I thought we’d see him again. Didn’t think it’d be as a fucking corpse.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She let out a sharp breath at the words. He ran a calloused thumb across the back of her hand, smoothing away the tension. “...It wasn’t your fault, Sybil.” He said, voice softening again. “Not yours or mine or anybody else’s. Jackson’s always sticking his nose where it don’t belong, it was bound to happen eventually.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This got a violent head shake in response. “You’re wrong, I should have let you and Kit kick down the door-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And then one of us probably woulda got stabbed,” James interrupted. “If anything you probably saved my life.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bitter taste of his words swirled in her skull as Sybil shook her head. He was wrong, of course, because she’d seen James come out fine in plenty of scraps- more than fine, he was the one insisting he should be dead several times over. The luckiest man alive, making it out when no one else did. Even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been hurt- well, that would have just made sense, wouldn’t it? Because she </span>
  <em>
    <span>cared</span>
  </em>
  <span> about him and he loved her and everyone who loved her died and Jackson was just another body for the Cordova Curse so she had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>go</span>
  </em>
  <span> before-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” James’ firm voice tugged her to earth once more. “What’d I say about running?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was silent for a moment, frozen in her seat, the tension in her limbs aching for release, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>go</span>
  </em>
  <span>… then she took a deep breath, counting down. She placed her free hand on top of his, the blade of her finger tracing along his wedding band as she exhaled. </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“To never go where you can’t follow.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s right.” There was a hint of warmth to his tone, but did little to belay the heaviness of his words. “I already lost somebody this week. I’m not lettin’ that happen to you too, I’d never be able to forgive myself. So make sure somebody’s with you, or at the very least don’t go leaving the city without someone, you got me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A nod. “That’s fair.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quiet fell over the couple for a few minutes- not as tense as before, but still sitting heavy in Sybil’s stomach as she mulled things over. Finally as the car pulled into park she spoke again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“James?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sigh. “I know. Let’s get you upstairs.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sybil Cordova stepped out of the car into the frigid January night. Her husband followed.</span>
</p>
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